


Lilitu

by alexiel



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Dark, Horror, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-29
Updated: 2011-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-23 04:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexiel/pseuds/alexiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is being fed on by something in the night. Unfortuneately, Sherlock is that something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lilitu

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a kink-meme prompt.

Lilitu

 **Quincy Harker's Journal**

15 April -- I took Lucy to see a Doctor today. She scraped her knee climbing the tall tree outside of S----'s house after school and didn't want Mother to see. I was tempted to take Lucy home first, for our parents have long forbidden her from climbing things - but Lucy threatened to tattle to Mother about my skipping Sunday School last weekend if I refused and, as the wound really did need immediate attention, I capitulated to her inelegant blackmail. (Though I must say, of all the little sister's in the world why did I have to get the clever one? She's only six for G-d's sake!)

The Doctor we saw, (for Lucy insisted that we not go to her usual pediatrician,) was a man by the name of John Watson. He found Lucy charming, treated me as an adult, and stitched her knee expertly. However, in the process of doing so, he rolled up the sleeves of his jumper and revealed to me certain bruises on his wrists.

The blood froze in my veins when I saw them.

"Doctor," I asked him politely, "Did you have an unruly patient today?"

As I expected, he wrinkled his brow and inquired why I would ask such a question. When I pointed to his wrists he seemed startled to see them.

"Do you know," he said, "I hadn't noticed those." He shrugged, "Must've gotten them from – well, my flat-mate is a detective you see, we chase criminals and sometimes bruises _do_ happen." Then he smiled cheerily and went back to his work.

I thought his answer seemed reasonable, but Lucy persisted in questioning him.

"Doctor," She asked sweetly, "how did the criminals cause those bruises on your wrists?"

And again, he stared at her blankly. "My wrists?" He asked and repeated what he had said about not noticing. In that moment, we both knew for certain what he was.

I suppose we shall have to tell Mother after all now.

I wonder if a sufficient quantity of sweets will keep Lucy silent on the matter of Sunday school.

 **John Watson's Blog**

15 April, Evening -- Cripes but I'm exhausted. Can't ever seem to get enough sleep lately. I’d blame Sherlock but that seems self defeating as I'm the one who insisted on following him into that mess with the Blue Carbuncle. (Harry, before you ask: Yes, there is a full write up to follow. Possibly. I have to check with Lestrade on this one.)

Had an endless stream of patients at work today. Highlights include old Mrs. H, who came to complain to me about her Gout, and Mr. P, who swallowed another of his cat's regurgitated hairballs. (Which is about as safe and sanity as it sounds.) Towards the end of my shift, there were these two kids. (Siblings.) The girl had cut her knee up in a bad fall and the boy, older teenager, brought her in to get it stitched up. (Don't know how they got past Prudence at the front desk.) They were sweet kids, but they spoke and behaved so strangely! (Like something out of an old novel.) I had to fight not to laugh the whole time. I remember thinking that they were observant for some reason, (can't remember why,) but I suspect that Sherlock would've liked them.

Possibly.

 **Mina Harker's Diary**

16 April, Morning -- I don't know how the children thought they could hide Lucy's fall from me. Mrs. S---- called the second she fell out of that tree and the Doctor's office not long after. I'm glad Quincy took her to have the wound seen to - but I shall have to talk to the dear boy at greater length about his responsibilities as a son as well as a brother. (I wonder sometimes if he is more like his namesake than I give him credit for.) When I confronted he and Lucy about yesterday's incident neither of them denied it. Both, however, immediately fell to blurting things about the doctor they had seen.

"He had marks on his wrists!"

"And his neck!"

"And his memory lapsed when we mentioned them!"

"He was exhausted!"

"Pale as anything!"

"Mother, I think he might be a -."

And so on.

I pray, for this Doctor's sake, that the children are simply imagining things. These recent years have been so peaceful that I loath to break that peace. I do not think I could stand - that is - if the children are correct - but it is too soon for that.

I will go see this Doctor for myself first.

 **Electronic Mail. Mina Harker, (MH@----.co.uk) London, to Jonathan Harker, (JHesq@----.co.uk) Transylvania**

16 April -- "There is a Creature in London. The children encountered one of its prey. (They are safe. He is not.) Come at Once. Bring Professor Van Helsing."

 

 **John Watson's Blog**

16 April, Evening -- Sherlock threw one of his fits last night. Don't know what set him off. (I finally remembered why I thought those children were observant- how I missed those bruises I don't know - and I was telling Sherlock about it when he nearly dropped a beaker of acid on my foot! Then he had the gall to blame *me* for ruining his experiment. I almost punched him.)

Work was awful today. (Again.) Could hardly stay upright in my seat even though I'd slept the whole night through. (I don't understand this constant exhaustion. How is it that Sherlock always looks so well rested? He's not *that* much younger than me.)

There was one bright spot though - one of my patients, new one, Mina something - attractive bird about my own age - asked me to meet her for lunch tomorrow.

Hopefully, Sherlock won't find himself a case before then.

Lucy Harker's Journal

17 April -- He's here!! He's here!! Papa came home today! : D He brought me a present from Budapest!! The Doll is pretty but I like Prfoessor Van Helsing's present better - he gave me an old crossbow from the museum!!! (But he said not to tell Papa so Shhhh!)

I think this means I was right about the Doctor. HAHA!!! I AM SO going to be a better hunter than Quincy!!! <3

 

 **Quincy Harker's Journal**

17 April -- This morning, Father and Professor Van Helsing returned from their annual pilgrimage to Transylvania. (This year, for the first time, Mother did not accompany them.) After brief naps and even briefer showers, the three of them went to lunch with the Doctor. When they returned, they cloistered themselves in Mother's office and have been shut up in there since.

As the office shares a wall with my closet, I have listened to their conversation as best I could and recorded what I heard to the best of my ability:

"It is not a Vampire." Professor Van Helsing said almost straight off. (I could have told them that.) "Though I do not yet have enough data to identify what manner of creature it may be that is feeding upon him. My hypothesis-."

Mother sighed, "You saw him. Your Hypothesis is most likely correct. Lilitu or a Lilu. I would stake my life on it."

"Yes, but would you stake his?"

There was a silence during which I could hear the clinking of glasses, indicating that Father had brought out the Brandy.

"It doesn't make sense!" Father snapped at last. "In this day and age Lilu and Lilitu have better sense than to feed on any one victim that much. It's why we don't hunt them." He sighed deeply, "Christ that poor man. He looks as if -."

"- as if he's being fed on nightly. Yes. But we must not draw conclusions until we have gathered the evidence."

"Do you think he'll really get it all on video?"

"I doubt it. Lilu and Lilitu don't film well."

"Still, he'll gather enough. Enough to either remember on his own or - well."

"Yes."

I have no idea what they meant that but at this point their conversation turned to Professor Van Helsings Gall bladder and I had no interest in following.

Of course, this means that there really is a creature in London. A CREATURE! Like the one Mother and Father hunted before Lucy and I were born.

Despite myself, I cannot help but feel a certain excitement.

 

 **John Watson's Blog**

17 April, Evening -- God DAMN IT.

Figures - of course the first attractive woman to ask me out in weeks turns out to be a) married and b) completely insane.

I give up.

 **Memorandum Left by John Watson**

18 April, Night -- Oh God. This - This can't be real. It can't.

I have to be hallucinating.

I have to be imagining it all.

Please, God, tell me that this is all just a nightmare. That I will wake up tomorrow and Baker Street - no, no! That tomorrow I will wake up in Afghanistan and the _world will be sane_ again. That all of London, all of - no.

God.

I can't - Oh God.

Christ.

Father in Heaven I -.

I've gone mad. I must have.

When I met those people for lunch today, those Harkers and that Professor, I thought they were crazy. I thought - I mean, when they asked me to record myself sleeping - when they said that - I didn't take them seriously. (How could I?) Some... some mythical creature slipping into my bedroom? Christ what a lark.

"I would have noticed." I told them. I'm a soldier after all. "And if I didn't, my flatmate would've."

My flatmate.

Sherlock.

No - No Don't -.

How could I have - but - but he - but - no.

No.

I'm not making any sense.

Please, God, keep me from falling apart long enough to make some sense.

Today, I had lunch with the Harkers.

The Harkers and their Professor Van Helsing. Professor Van Helsing is studying some sort of creature. A _parasite_ he called it. A creature.

"A creature," Mina said, "to which I suspect you have been exposed." She smiled sweetly, "I noticed the symptoms when we spoke yesterday."

It didn't seem so far-fetched at first. I've been sleeping well and resting poorly and god knows what I've been exposed to running through the sewers of London after Sherlock.

It seemed logical.

When the Professor asked me to videotape myself sleeping to help him gather data for his study, to properly diagnose me, I even agreed.

Then I came home and asked Sherlock about it.

"You ever heard of a Lilitu?" I asked him - and the way his back stiffened - God. I thought he’d accidentally contaminated our food or something- but that doesn't matter because I thought wrong. I -. No. Logical John - LOGICAL.

"Lilitu?" He asked. He spoke so quietly, so carefully, pronounced it just so - that I should have noticed.

Dear God - how did I not notice?

How have I not noticed all these months?

When I explained what Van Helsing had said - when Sherlock - oh but how he laughed! He laughed and he told me to Google it.

I did. (Lilitu => Lilu => Gilgamesh => Earliest known reference to a succubus.)

Christ.

I thought that Mina woman had made me the butt of a joke. And yet, for some reason, I set up the camera they'd given me anyway.

I thought maybe, perhaps, if I recorded myself sleeping, I could discover what it is that's been keeping me so deeply asleep and yet so un-rested.

That was six hours ago.

Five hours and forty-five minutes ago I went to bed.

Two hours ago, Lestrade woke me. (Called my cell. Sherlock again. A case. Sherlock is there now.)

I was too exhausted to follow but, when I answered the phone, I caught sight of the Camera.

So I watched the tape.

That tape.

Oh GOD that tape!

How do I even begin to explain its contents? How can I account for what's there - plain as day - when I have no memory of it?

God that tape.

That tape shows Sherlock crawling into my bed, and I letting him. He shivers, claiming cold. (April is warm enough for Mrs. Hudson to turn off the heat but Sherlock doesn't seem to own any proper bedding. Of course he'd be cold. Of course I’d allow him to.)

He crawls into my bed and tosses and turns and comes closer and closer to me until I snap at him to stop. When I do, he does.

He stops - then he - then he rolls over onto me and grabs me by my wrists and, for no reason I can discern, the tape goes white. White snow over black and not a picture to be seen but the sounds - Oh Christ but the sounds.

I can feel what the sounds tell.

"Sherlock?" I hear myself asking, annoyed, "Sherlock what are you doing?"

He doesn't reply. (He is kissing me. Lips caressing my neck. Hands tight, so tight against my wrists.)

"Sherlock let go of me."

He doesn't. (He lines his hips up over mine. Brackets my thighs with his own. Mouths his way down the outside of my tee-shirt.)

"Sherlock that's - HEY - Sherlock GET OFF OF ME!"

He smacks me. Hard. (Lets go of my wrist just long enough to land a blow to my face. He licks the bruise. Moves his hand to my throat. I don't want to remember the rest.)

We struggle. I hear it. I hear myself struggling against him. Struggling and failing and breathing. And I hear him, silent all the while until - until. (I remember - no, NO, I don't want to remember.)

He lands a punch to my solar plexus. Hard enough to daze me. Hard enough to hear.

Sherlock chuckles, a deep, low sound when he does it. (It vibrates against my chest. Against my will I go hard with the sound.)

There's a rustling. My clothing? His? (Both.)

After a moment I gasp for air.

Then I scream. (I scream because - no. No!)

I scream. A high, pained scream that's cut off into a sound that's abrupt and muffled.

After that there is only the slick slap of flesh against flesh. Noises Sherlock makes. Muffled moans I can only presume to be my own. (His fingers, I remember -. No. nononononoNO.)

Then it stops.

Only to start again.

I don't need the video anymore. Not with it playing (with visuals, with smell, with feel over and over again in my head.)

Not with a hundred repetitions - literally a hundred - and, and, and memories crowding around it.

I suspect that they are crawling out.

What do I do when they crawl out?

Oh Gods.

What is this?

What am I writing?

No.

No I -. My gun.

I need to get my gun before he comes back here.

God. Please, let this be a nightmare.

 **  
Electronic Mail. Sherlock Holmes (SHolmes@----.co.uk) London, to Mycroft Holmes, (MHGov@----.co.uk) London**

18 April -- "There has been a minor incident with John. Come immediately. Also, I suspect I have discovered what happened our dear cousin the Count. - SH"


End file.
